Horizon Storms (41 page)

“I’ll consider it,” Lanyan said gruffly without getting up from his seat.

“So, is there anything salvageable?” the Chairman asked.

Preoccupied, Swendsen wandered over to look out the broad windows of the penthouse office. “Well, all the systems are fully functional, mechanically speaking, but we’d have to reinstall a basic instruction set to make it work again.”

The Chairman turned to Lanyan. “And the compy actually belonged to one of our EDF officers. That raises even more suspicions.”

The General sat up rigidly, shoving the various documents aside. “Yes, Mr. Chairman—EA was technically owned by Commander Tasia Tamblyn.

She doesn’t know what happened to her compy, and apparently assumes EA was lost. She filed one or two search requests, but kept the matter quiet. Probably afraid she’d face disciplinary action. Technically, Tamblyn wasn’t allowed to dispatch her compy anywhere without authorization.”

Lanyan pursed his thick lips, as if reluctant to reveal what he knew.

“For what it’s worth, sir, I’m familiar with Tamblyn, and I’ve spoken with her commanding officer. Admiral Willis characterizes her performance as impeccable. In fact, Commander Tamblyn was the one chosen to drop the first new Klikiss Torch on Ptoro. Apparently, her brother’s skymine was destroyed by hydrogues, all hands lost, and she holds a grudge. A good soldier, even if she is a Roamer.”

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“That doesn’t mean she’s not a mole in our midst,” the Chairman said,

“and I don’t want to miss a potential opportunity. There’s too much at stake, too much we still don’t know, especially now that we plan to take a hard-line stance against the Roamers. I’m not sure we should rely too much on this Commander Tamblyn’s loyalty. Isolate her from all matters relating to the new offensive—and find a way to keep a quiet eye on her.”

“If I install surveillance technology on her Manta, she may discover it,”

Lanyan said. “And we can’t allow her crew to pick up even a hint of our suspicions. That would affect the chain of command.”

“We’ll be more subtle than that.” Basil turned, clearing his throat to get Swendsen’s attention again. “Reboot that compy, restore all basic functions, and then return it to Tamblyn. Make up some story that explains where it’s been all this time. And then . . . we’ll see what happens.”

“If the compy’s sudden reappearance looks too convenient, Tamblyn might be suspicious,” Lanyan pointed out.

“We are all suspicious, General. These days there’s no way around it.”

Lanyan remained puzzled. “But what does all that accomplish, sir?”

The Chairman just smiled. “Engineer Swendsen can also install a passive surveillance program that will let us record everything that EA sees when she’s with our Roamer friend. The compy will become our spy without even realizing it.”

695TASIA TAMBLYN

Admiral Willis came aboard the Manta when it docked for resupply after finishing the EDF survey of the old Klikiss Torch stars. The rare smile on the old woman’s face was a puzzling but pleasant surprise. “Commander Tamblyn, I have a dandy little gift for you.”

As her bridge crew snapped to attention at the arrival of the Grid 7

commander, Tasia stood from her chair. “What is it, Admiral? Have we been granted permission to kick some more hydrogue butt? I wouldn’t mind deploying another Klikiss Torch, since the result of the last one was so gratifying.”

Willis turned to the bridge doorway and spoke to someone out in the corridor. “Go ahead, send her in.” Accompanied by an EDF desk clerk, a compy strutted dutifully onto the bridge. The skin polymer was polished and cleaned, the blue highlights refreshed.

Tasia immediately recognized the mechanical friend she’d had for most of her life. “EA!” She hurried across the deck to the Listener robot, unable to believe her eyes. “EA, where have you been?” She turned to Admiral Willis, breathless. “How did you ever find her? She’s been missing for half a year.”

The compy turned to face her, but the female voice was flat. “You are Tasia Tamblyn.”

Still smiling, Admiral Willis said, “I just got word from EDF HQ. Your compy was found in a damaged Hansa freighter that had apparently suffered a hydrogue attack. The human crew was all dead, and we rescued this little compy from some salvage prospectors.”

“Oh, EA, I’m so glad you’re back! What an ordeal you’ve been through.”

“I have no recollection of it, Tasia Tamblyn.” The simulated voice contained no inflections. “I am informed that you are my rightful owner.”

Tasia turned her puzzled face back to Admiral Willis, who explained,

“All systems aboard the drifting freighter were fried, apparently by hydrogue energy weapons. Your little robot’s memory must have been wiped clean as well. We found EA’s serial number and manufacturing date, but”—she shrugged and spread her hands—“the EDF doesn’t necessarily keep records of Roamer compies and their original owners. How did EA get away from you in the first place? Was she stolen?”

Tasia tried not to look guilty. “Uh, could be. She went missing while performing a family errand for me just before we all left on the Osquivel offensive. I never had any idea where she’d gone. Now that her memory’s gone, I suppose we’ll never know what happened.” She knelt in front of the Listener compy. “Well, I’ve got some old diary files, so maybe we can upload some of them to refresh your memory, EA.”

She suddenly remembered protocol and straightened on the bridge.

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“Admiral Willis, may I be dismissed? I’d like to take EA back to my cabin and do a damage assessment.”

Willis indicated the viewscreen. “The Grid 7 fleet’s in dock and awaiting orders. I don’t see any pressing emergencies right now. In fact, it’s been a while since I’ve planted my bottom in a Manta’s command chair. I’ll take your next shift here and do a little memory-refresher of my own. I’m supposed to conduct occasional inspections after all.” The older woman cracked her knuckles. “I think I’ll let your crew impress me.”

“Subcommander Ramirez can handle it very well,” Tasia said, looking at her navigator.

The EDF soldiers on Tasia’s bridge looked unnerved at the prospect of having the Admiral give them routine orders and watch their shift activities. Tasia’s concern, however, was focused on EA, and she led the cooperative compy down the corridor to her private stateroom.

Once she’d shut the door, Tasia sat on the edge of her bunk, rested her hands on the compy’s hard shoulders, and turned EA to face her. The blue Listener model had always been reliable and independent; Tasia had uploaded various specialties into her memory core, but spy training had not been one of them. Admiral Willis’s explanation of how she’d been found made sense . . . to a certain extent. “Do you remember anything, EA, any hints? Who’s the last person you recall talking to before you were deactivated?”

“I have no recollection.”

“Do you remember the Hansa freighter, the hydrogue attack?”

“No, but I have been informed of the situation.”

Tasia didn’t know what to believe. She knew all too well that the EDF

had no qualms about poking their noses into private matters. They could easily have asked the Listener robot too many questions, triggered a permanent memory wipe. Her hand clenched the edge of her bunk. EA wasn’t just missing data—she was missing all of their shared past.

“All right, EA, we’ll have to take this one step at a time. Before we left home, your memory core was so overloaded with past events and unnecessary skills that we needed to do some housekeeping anyway. This time I’ll add only the meaningful memories and leave out all the boring parts.”

“I am listening, Tasia Tamblyn.”

“You’re a Listener model. That’s what you’re designed to do.” Tasia

slumped back on her bunk, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how she should start—without giving any specifics of Roamer planets or facilities.

EA had first been owned by her brother Ross, who had given the compy to Jess, who had finally passed her to Tasia. Now EA’s memories of Ross Tamblyn were gone forever, along with Ross himself. And Tasia hadn’t even seen Jess in years; she hoped he was still alive. With a pang for all that had changed in her life, all that she’d left behind, she began.

“First off, let me tell you about the time I dared you to walk out on a thin ice shelf at the edge of the frozen sea, back on the water moon where our clan lives. I was just a little girl then, eight years old I think, and I would have done it myself—maybe I should have, because I probably weighed less than you do. I didn’t realize that as a compy you had no in-hibitions and simply followed my instructions, no matter how stupid they were.”

Tasia recalled the little compy strutting out onto the thin ice of Plumas like a trooper. Overhead, in the frozen-solid roof of sky, implanted artificial suns shone down, their reflections glittering off the faceted walls and icebergs. EA had marched out to the edge of the thin shelf and kept going even after the ice cracked and popped. At first Tasia had giggled, then called for the compy to stop, then watched in horror as the little robot plunged into the cold depths.

Hearing Tasia’s wails of despair, her mother had come running out of a pumping shed. Karla Tamblyn saw what had happened and struggled to find a solution. She dropped cables, hooks, and metal detectors in search of EA, but the compy kept sinking, systems freezing, even though her components were protected against harsh environments.

“It took my mother two hours, but she finally snagged you,” Tasia said, smiling at the recollection. “When she hauled you back up from under the ice, the water froze around you like a solid shell. I insisted on taking you into my room and built up the thermal generators so that you could thaw by the fire. I made us pepperflower tea, but of course you couldn’t drink any. You were the frozen one, but I was shivering the whole while. You really scared me that day, EA.” She turned to look at the motionless and attentive little compy. “Don’t you remember any of that?”

“I will from now on, Tasia Tamblyn.”

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She sighed. “It’s a start.” It was going to take a long time for EA to be the friend Tasia needed.

705ZHETT KELLuM

Inside the central administrative complex, Del Kellum studied summary screens for his shipyard operations. He seemed inordinately pleased with himself. Zhett watched angelfish swimming around in their tanks, knowing that her father was about to launch into one of his lectures or rants. He was always amusing when he worked himself into a furor over some subject or other, and this time she was not disappointed.

“We salvaged one hundred and twenty-three Soldier compies from the Eddie battleships. One hundred twenty-three! They’ve all had their memories erased along with most of their old programming. Then we installed new basic programming, so now they’re perfectly happy to work for us.

Model helpers.” He shook his large, squarish head. “If only we could get those thirty-two deadbeat soldiers to work a tenth as much.”

Zhett urged her father into a chair, so that she could knead the tense muscles in his broad shoulders. “Compies are designed to be hard workers, Dad, and Roamers are brought up to pull together and get the job done. But those Eddies had pampered childhoods that left them pretty much helpless. They barely know how to pour their own coffee or dress themselves in the morning.”

“So I expect too much from them?” Kellum grumbled. “By damn, if only they weren’t so ornery! They complain constantly that they’re bored and resentful . . . yet they refuse to participate. If our gravity wasn’t so low, they’d probably all have hemorrhoids from sitting on their butts doing nothing.”

Zhett snickered. “Then they’d really be cranky.”

The big schematic on the wall near his fish tank was a tangled map of orbital lines designating the permanent facilities. Bright dots marked the positions of hundreds of ships and artificial constructions. The screens showed a microcosm of shipbuilding activities ranging from ore-mappers and prospectors to interior refurbishers and decorators who put the finishing touches on completed spacecraft.

The reprogrammed Soldier compies were primarily assigned to hard labor out in the shipyards, hauling metal-rich rubble closer to the big smelters. Others had mapped the rings’ gravitational fields in detail, marking safe zones for portable factories and pinpointing new stable orbits for construction frames.

“We left a bit of their EDF recon programming intact—just the parts we thought might be useful—so those Soldier compies excel at high-risk exploration. I assigned forty of them to spread out in the densest ring concentrations, places where I’ve never had the guts to fly before. Too crowded and too dangerous. With their reaction times, they’re the best fliers I’ve ever seen, even in our clunky old grappler pods.”

“Not better than I am, Dad.”

“I’d rather not put it to the test, my sweet. Let compies take the stupid risks. And if they happen to get damaged . . . well, we can always use their components for scrap.” Kellum expanded a segment of the display where the orbiting rubble was so dense that the pinpoints looked like a swarm of gnats.

“Down close to the planet itself, the rubble’s so thick that nobody’s dared to fly there before, but it must be rich in resources. The surprise is that I expected to lose half of the compy scouts, but so far they keep sending back readings.” A waterfall of numbers and symbols flowed down columns. “By damn, look at all those metals. A handful of those Soldier compies could put our old prospectors out of business.”

“Most of the prospectors wouldn’t mind, Dad. They complain as much as our Eddy guests do.”

Kellum wasn’t listening as he concentrated on the data. He tapped at a glaringly anomalous reading. “What the hell is that?”

Zhett looked closer, as if the numbers might mean something. “With all the sensors you installed in the recon grappler pods, how could you forget to include optical relays?”